#dissertation transcription

[librarycards]

ok, has anyone / when was the first time you learned about "disability pronouns" (if ever?) this is becoming more common in the circles i run in, and basically means the preferred terminology (disabled, crip, Mad, ND, autistic, mentally disabled, chronically ill...) you use when it comes to your bodymind. weird to me that they're not called disability adjectives but okay. anyway, has anyone else heard of these??

[namchyoon]

how to motivate anna:

ANNA IF YOU FINISH ALL YOUR RESPONSIBILITIES WE WILL WATCH GOSE

😭😭😭😭😭 well i did finally call my employer that i was putting off for over a week (idek why bro he's really nice....) and managed to reply to my advisor so all i can do is wait for the call back (and uh. check the online uni library. but i hate online stuff. so. we shall see.) 😭

[todays-xkcd]

Rümeysa Öztürk was grabbed off the street in my town one month ago.

PhD Timeline [Explained]

Transcript

[A chart titled "U. S. P. H. D. Program Timeline", with arrows directing the various labelled stages and a block showing the percentage of Coursework to Research over time.] Meet with Advisor. Research Proposal. Qualifying Exams. Propose Dissertation. Research and Write Dissertation.

[The next stages, "Submit Dissertation" and "Defend Dissertation" have been crossed out in red, with new stages also written in red covering up the Coursework to Research block.] Get grabbed off the sidewalk outside your home by masked government agents. Be whisked out of the state before a judge has time to intervene. ???

[thepencilnerd]

Feels Like Trouble

pairing: Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x F!Doctor!Reader summary: You and Robby have been secretly dating for a while now. Most of the ER is clueless—except the five people who could probably write dissertations on your dynamic. Enter a frat boy med student with too much confidence and not enough self-awareness. Robby? Jealous. You? Oblivious. Everyone else? Watching the drama unfold like it's peak primetime television. warnings: cringe flirting, depiction of boundary-pushing behavior, mutual pining, protective!Robby genre: fluff, slow burn, banter, crack vibes, emotional constipation, robbie's love language is acts of service, strong!reader energy because women run the world word count: 6.3k a/n: robby in his protective, simmering, quietly feral era + men anticipating my needs without me having to ask is my roman empire. p.s. also check out my other Dr. Robby fics (Not Enough | And Through It All) if you're interested <3

It started at the nurses’ station.

You were finishing up notes from a back-to-back shift, hair a mess, sleeves rolled, running purely on caffeine and spite. You barely registered the med student who leaned in a little too close—Jackson, of course. Jackson, who everyone knew had barely scraped through med school with a transcript that looked like a cry for help and a reputation for quoting his frat days like gospel. Jackson, who thought calling women 'Doc' in a tone meant to charm was somehow endearing. So, yeah. Not a great dude, to say the absolute least.

"Hey, Dr. L/N," Jackson said with that ever-present grin, leaning just a little too close. "You, uh... ever take pity on exhausted interns and grab a drink after shift?"

You gave a polite smile. "I’m not really a spirits person, but thanks."

Jackson blinked. "Huh?"

"You said drink, right? I’m more of a coffee or tea girl. Caffeine over cocktails."

He opened his mouth like he was going to try again, but you were already turning back to your chart.

"Good luck today!" you said cheerfully, not noticing the groan from your colleagues. Just around the corner, Mateo muttered to Javadi, "That’s the fourth time this week. It’s painful, man."

Javadi sipped her carton of apple juice with focused precision, attention directed solely on your ability to brush off such obvious advances without it getting in the way of your work. "Seventh, actually. If you count the half-made attempt on Monday. She's bulletproof."

"Try Jackson-proof," Mateo scoffed.

Two beds down, King leaned over to Langdon with her gloved hands clasped and asked, "Why does Jackson keep hovering around Dr. L/N like a... rabid mosquito?"

Langdon just smiled knowingly, looking over to the nurses' station where the man of the hour sat. "Don’t worry. Robby'll take care of it. Eventually."

Unbeknownst to you, Robby had been watching the entire interaction—and every interaction before that. If any med student so much as breathed near you with less-than-pure intentions, he was up in arms, ready to intervene at a moment's notice.

There was that time Whitaker nearly took your eye out when a patient came in with a nail embedded in his femur; the force of pulling it out snapped Whitaker’s elbow backward—only for Robby's hand to catch it mid-swing before it could clock you in the face. Or when Santos nearly sliced your finger open as you gently guided her through her first incision—Robby had materialized behind her in the span of a gasp, steadying her hands with a calm correction that masked sheer panic. Or when Javadi passed out for the second time during a gnarly pelvic realignment and collapsed straight into you, nearly giving you a concussion from her deadweight—Robby had been there then, too, catching you both with lightning reflexes and barely concealed fury.

At this point, the only person in the hospital who hadn’t triggered Robby’s internal security system was Mel. And that was only because she kept a respectful three-foot radius and shared snacks with you during breaks. The two of you had a quiet little tradition—inviting her out to try the new cat café when it opened downtown, or attending weekend adoption events together like it was a team-building exercise. Langdon once joked that she was the third wheel in the most wholesome slow-burn romcom he'd ever seen. Mel's only response was two blinks and a single nod of acknowledgement.

Everyone in the ER noticed your dynamic—the way you and Robby worked together like a well-oiled machine, never needing to speak aloud to know what the other needed. It was intuitive. Rhythmic. Like watching a dance you’d been rehearsing for years.

Still, only a handful of people actually knew about your relationship. Abbot, Collins, McKay, Dana, Langdon, and Mel.

Abbot had been Robby’s sounding board from the very beginning. Back when Robby was still pacing around the break room, torn between professionalism and the undeniable, slow-burning pull he felt toward you, it was Abbot who told him to get over himself and ask you out. Life was too short for regrets.

Collins, McKay, and Dana didn’t know officially—but they knew. The meaningful glances, the subtle handoffs of coffee, the shared silences that were too loaded to be casual. They never said a word because they lived for the soap-opera-worthy drama of it all.

Langdon and Mel were on the same wavelength. They hadn’t caught you red-handed, but their spidey senses were borderline clairvoyant. They never probed, never asked. Just watched it unfold like a plotline they already knew the ending to.

Besides them, the rest of the department remained blissfully unaware—except for the way Robby’s entire demeanor shifted over a year ago. A quiet warmth started to replace his usual stoicism. People credited it to the anonymous private donation made to the ER around the same time.

But the truth was, it had nothing to do with money.

It was you. 

You, of course, were oblivious to whatever other people thought or said—unless it had something to do with your patients. Robby sometimes joked that you were pathologically unbothered, something he made a mental note to ask you about, and he wasn’t wrong. The rumors from the nurses, the looks from the interns, the knowing smirks from Dana or Langdon? All of it flew over your head like air traffic.

Maybe you just didn’t see it. Didn’t see how Robby’s entire world seemed to tilt when you entered a room. How effortlessly the two of you moved in sync like second nature—side by side in trauma bays, tossing instruments, treatment plans, and glances back and forth like muscle memory. Everyone else could see it.

You were always focused on the next decision, the next step, the next person who needed your help. You didn’t think about what you needed until the shift was over—if ever. Your well-being came last, always.

But not to Robby. Never to Robby.

He noticed everything.

The slump in your shoulders. The faint crease in your forehead when a headache was starting to set in. He knew when you were on the verge of running on empty, when your patience was thinning, when you hadn’t eaten since sunrise. He never made a show of it. He just acted.

He didn’t wait for you to ask. He didn’t expect you to remember to need anything.

Because he already knew. He just... knew.

Your coffee, brewed and sweetened exactly how you liked it, would be waiting for you at the nurses’ station first thing in the morning. A second cup at lunch—always packed, always hot, even if you never had time to drink it. He’d drop it off like it was routine, like it was no big deal, because he knew the odds of you being pulled into another case mid-sip were astronomical.

Your favorite sandwich from the cafeteria, left quietly on your desk with a sticky note that said, “Eat this or I’m calling your mother.” You'd sooner pass out from hunger than remember to eat. He knew that. So he took the thinking out of it for you.

And after the longest days—those days where you'd made a thousand decisions, answered a hundred questions, led back-to-back codes—he’d cook dinner at his place. Quietly, without fanfare, and pieced together with the same kind of intention you gave your patients. He’d hand you a glass of water—because that was one other thing that you along with 80% of the population deprived yourself of—and steer you to the couch while he handled the rest. Just so you could turn your brain off.

You never asked, never had to, yet he always knew.

You’d just been snapped back to the present by the sound of an unwelcome familiar voice—again.

"Dr. L/N," he said, sidling up to you again with that same confident grin—clearly not deterred by every failed attempt before. "I’ve got a list of mocktails that might just change your mind. Pretty creative, right? I googled it during lunch. There’s this one with lychee and—"

You blinked at him slowly, like you were buffering.

"Jackson," you said, voice firmer this time, "I don’t even have time to finish a protein bar most days, let alone entertain another pitch for drinks. You’re taking time away from my patients, my patients. I sincerely hope you don’t treat them the same way—ignoring their boundaries and refusing to take no for an answer."

You didn’t say it harshly. Just plainly. Clearly and finite. Like a diagnosis that needed no follow-up.

Across the room, Robby pulled down his glasses as his lip quirked up into a slow, private smirk. Pride bloomed across his face so fast he had to duck his head behind a chart to hide it. He knew better than to coddle you. The mutual discomfort and stifled reactions from the staff were one thing. Watching you handle yourself like that? That was something else entirely.

From across the nurses’ station, the staff collectively cringed like someone had just dropped a post-op surgical tray. Santos and Mateo physically turned away to hide their budding laughter. Javadi buried her face in her sleeve, secondhand embarrassment blooming. Mohan took off at a brisk pace to see a patient. Whitaker closed his eyes and mouthed a silent prayer to the ceiling. Meanwhile, Dana, McKay, and Collins couldn’t look away if they tried, pressing down their grins and wishing they'd brought popcorn. Langdon sipped his coffee like it was a box-office premiere. King, ever diligent, kept her focus on irrigating her patient’s wound—Langdon would fill her in later with full commentary. Before you could continue—

"Dr. L/N," your savior called, tone light but cutting through the air like a scalpel—just loud enough to interrupt whatever nonsense Jackson was about to say next.

You turned and there he was.

Dr. Robby—your chaos compass, your caffeinated partner in crime, loyal boyfriend, favorite soon-to-be roommate, and at the moment, your very composed but unmistakably irritated attending—his expression perfectly calm to the untrained eye, but you could read the tension in every line of his face.

"Got a case," he said flatly. "Now. Come on."

You blinked, confused but relieved. "Okay."

You didn’t miss the way Jackson shrank a little at Robby’s tone, nor the way Langdon grinned over his coffee like he'd just won a bet. You caught up to him by the supply closet, where he all but dragged you inside and shut the door behind you.

"What's up?" you asked, eyebrow raised.

He stared at you, a little too intently, like he wasn’t sure whether to scold you or wrap you in bubble wrap. "Are you seriously asking me that after that guy just tried to chat you up in the middle of the ER like this is Grey’s Anatomy?"

You blinked, tilting your head. "Wait… was that flirting?"

Robby blinked back. "You’re joking."

You were. "I thought he just wanted to split an energy drink or something."

He huffed a quiet laugh, some of the tension bleeding from his shoulders as his hands came up to ruffle his hair. "Jesus."

You poked his chest lightly. "You’re kind of cute when you’re flustered, you know that?"

His ears went red immediately. "I’m not flustered. I’m... professionally annoyed."

You blinked. "You’re jealous?"

"I’m not jealous," he said tightly. "I’m—concerned."

You grinned, stepping close. "Concerned is hot."

"He was twelve."

"He's definitely at least twenty-six."

Robby exhaled through his nose. "I’ve been very chill about this whole 'let’s not tell the hospital we’re dating' thing. But if I see him so much as come within two feet of you again, I’m submitting a formal notice that you are very much taken and a complaint with HR about his behavior. And if that doesn’t work—" he leaned in closer, voice dropping—"I’m dealing with him myself."

You raised an eyebrow, lips twitching into a smirk. "What’s that going to look like—are you gonna slam your clipboard down and tag team him with Abbot? Because honestly, I wouldn’t hate that."

Your voice was teasing, but your cheeks were warm. Watching Robby get territorial from a respectful distance? Unexpectedly hot. And now, you couldn’t help but push his buttons to see how much more riled up he’d get.

He didn’t answer. Just leaned in slowly, deliberately, raising both of his arms to cage you in—palms flat against the wall on either side of your head. The move sent heat straight to your cheeks, blinking up at him as he leaned closer, so close his breath brushed your lips.

Then he kissed you—hard and fast and possessive, his hands sliding up into your hair, threading through it with the kind of reverence that made your knees go weak. You gasped softly into his mouth, one hand instinctively rising to cup his jaw, your fingers grazing the edge of his beard before curling into the softness of it. He leaned into your touch, like he’d been waiting for it all day.

Your other hand slid up into his hair, tugging gently at the strands at the nape of his neck, and you felt it—the way his pulse thrummed just beneath your fingertips, the way he shivered just slightly at your touch.

His thumbs caressed the line of your jaw, then drifted down to the curve of your neck, holding you like you might slip away if he wasn’t careful.

It was fire and softness, urgency wrapped in warmth. And you never wanted to stop.

When you finally pulled back, you were both breathless. "Is that allowed in a supply closet?" you smirked. 

"If they didn’t want people kissing in here, they wouldn’t make it this conveniently located."

You smacked his arm, giggling.

"I’m serious," he added, voice softening but maintaining a firm undertone. "I don't share."

You looped your arms around his neck. "Good. I wasn’t offering."

He grinned, still close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. "That thing you said back there—about boundaries, about respect." He paused, eyes scanning yours. "That was... incredible. Seriously. You handled it perfectly."

Your brows furrowed for a moment, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice.

"It was... commanding," he added a moment later, voice lower, more playful now. "Alluringly so."

You snorted. "You're ridiculous."

"Yeah," he agreed, pulling you closer to pepper your face with kisses. "Ridiculously in love with a woman who knows exactly how to shut down frat boys without breaking stride, resuscitate half the ER, deliver excellent patient care, and still make rounds on time."

His hand slid down your back, warm and steady. "You’re the whole damn package, you know that? It’s genuinely unfair."

You chuckled, burying your face briefly in his shoulder.

Somewhere down the hall, Dana's voice rang echoed through the PA, summoning you for the consult. Robby groaned, forehead dropping to your shoulder.

"This is not over," he muttered.

You kissed the corner of his mouth, a smirk following soon after where your lips lingered. "Got any dinner plans?"

Robby raised an eyebrow, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "Actually, yeah. I’ve got a date—with my incredibly beautiful, breathtaking, beyond intelligent, and painfully witty girlfriend."

You blinked at him, then laughed, delighted. "Wow. Sounds like a catch."

He leaned in and bumped his nose against yours, grinning. "She really is. And I think she’s about to say yes."

You didn’t say anything at first. Just smiled, so full of affection it made your cheeks ache. Then you nodded, brushing your thumb gently along his cheekbone.

"Yeah," you whispered, "she definitely is."

[samsbrowncarhartt]

One of my fav authors just said in their authors note that Sam and Dean retire from hunting like Hayao Miyazaki retires from film making. Which is literally soooo perfect…

Like they are DONE. They are OVER IT. Dean gets a job at a garage and watches too much Food Network. Sam’s working on a dissertation on American folklore. And then he’s conducting an oral history section of his thesis and the “Sasquatch” sighting his subject is describing is REALLY starting to sound like a wendigo….

And of course there are other hunters and they could pass it off. But they’re so close and they basically did all the research already and the undergrad Sam hired for help w interview transcription is just gonna keep poking her nose in it if it doesn’t get taken care of soon.

Anyways, this is the last one. After this, they’re DONE. For real this time.

[dragimal]

Beastars: An Essay

finally, after literal YEARS of on-off work, this monster of an essay is done! my magnum opus, my part-time job, my dissertation, my burden... if any of you see me attempt this level of essay again, please beat me to death with hammers cus' I am NOT(!!) doing this shit again!

fair warning-- if you like Beastars, you may not like this essay. so please feel free to ignore this post and have fun with Beastars! but if you think you'd enjoy watching me rip into Beastars for /checks notes/... over 50k fucking words, then please come join me!

anyways, this essay is so long that I had to split it into parts in Google Docs, and I'll be linking it under the cut in case I need to fuck with the links later. enjoy!

also apologies to any mobile readers-- I formatted this for desktop reading, so it may look janky on a phone screen...

full link << to the broad folder with both versions of the essay

no image IDs << to the version of the essay without full image IDs (however, if the smaller and hard-to-read panels in this version of the essay still need dialogue transcriptions, please let me know and I’ll gladly add that in for the necessary images!)

full image IDs << to the version of the essay with full image IDs (currently a WIP! will update with a link when I get started on it)

[neil-gaiman]

Quoting you for a dissertation?

Hi! I'm an English undergrad currently writing a dissertation on escapism and fantasy (specifically Tolkien and Lewis) and i recently saw your recording at the British Library, and I want to quote it. However, I no longer have access to it, and I cannot contact the curators because of the BL cyber attack. Do you have either a video copy or transcript of what you said about the value of fantasy?

I don’t, I’m afraid. Why not write a paper letter to the British Library and post it to them?

[d-lanx]

I transcribed what McIntyre said to Punk after his mania match

(I did this instead of working on my dissertation and it took an hour of messing with audio and replaying it until I could hear properly)

Essentially, he was saying that Punk is a good commentator and should keep doing it because if he ever wrestles again, McIntyre will end his career. He also really just wanted to rub his win in Punk’s face. Full Transcription is below the photo if you care.

Speakers

P: CM Punk

D: Drew McIntyre

M: Pat McAfee

G: Corey Graves

C: Michael Cole

(ST) is used when multiple things are said at the same time.

Transcription

P: Well, my hat goes off to the champ. I’m not gonna tell him he’s gonna keep it warm for me because I don’t know what the future holds.

*McIntyre stares at Punk, who stares back.*

M: I think he has an idea of what the future holds.

*McIntyre walks towards the commentary table.*

P: Ah. I’ve been here before.

*McIntyre gestures for the other commentators to move out of the way and they do.*

C: Ok.

P: Be careful. Be careful, Drew. Your wife’s here.

*McIntyre climbs onto the table and crawls towards Punk, pushing the belt towards him.*

M: Like a jungle cat on our commentary desk.

*Punk applauds him.*

P: Congratulations. Have fun taking selfies on the internet with it.

*McIntyre kneels on the desk in front of Punk.*

D: I want you to know, every single thing I’ve said about you, I meant every single word.

P: I want you to know that I can’t hear a word you’re saying because I have cans on.

D: And let me tell you something. Right where you’re sitting, I’ll give you props, you got that down like nobody else. Step back in that ring ever again, I won’t put you out for a few months, I’ll end your career.

*Punk laughs.*

D: I’m not playing you; you think it’s funny? I’m not playing you.

P: I think it’s hilarious.

(ST) P: People bigger than you have told me that my career is over.

(ST) D: You’re welcome here.

D: Step back in the ring, I’ll end your career. This is my moment.

P: It is your moment. Why are you- why are you here? Why are you in my face? Why are you making it about me?

D: Because I want to rub it in your goddamn face!

*McIntyre gets up to crouch in front of Punk with the belt.*

(ST) D: Get this shot! I want this framed on my wall!

(ST) P: Alright man. Alright get it.

*Crowd starts chanting “CM Punk”.*

P: I ain’t never won a title and heard other people chanting somebody else’s name.

*McIntyre stands up and gives the DX “suck it” gesture with one hand while holding the belt in the other.*

M: Oh geez.

P: Alright. Ok.

M: Right in his face. He did that right in his face.

*Punk knocks McIntyre over and starts a fight.*

G: Wait a minute!

C: Oh my God!

[stone-stars]

Transcript:

[Surprise round boom] Emily: I have a really good idea. Caldwell: Okay. Emily: I take out my phone and I make the flash go off at the same time-- like, in the direction of the press-- at the same time that I dive towards the egg to knock it out. [Caldwell laughs.] Murph: That... sounds like such a scene, Emily. That sounds like such a fucking scene. [Emily laughs in the background.] Jake: That was pre-empted by "I have a really good idea". Murph: Yeah [laughs]. That's... one of the worst ideas I've ever heard. That's the worst thing you could do in this situation. [Emily squeaks with laughter. Jake laughs too.] Caldwell: Is-- So-- Murph: Literally the worst thing you could do in this situation. Caldwell: I'm just picturing you-- Murph: Call attention to yourself and then dive??? Emily, through laughter: I-- Murph-- [breaks off] Murph: Everything you've done in this situation is bad, take it again. Take it back. Emily: I think you misunderstood. Murph, laughing: No! No, I'm perfectly understanding! [Jake and Emily laugh.] Murph: I-- cause-- it sounded like they're doing a speech on the dissertation. So it sounds like, maybe you could sneak up to the device, and the only danger is that you might break it. Caldwell: M-hm. Yeah. Murph: Right? It sounds like you could do it without being noticed. You are a) guaranteeing that you are noticed, and b) instead of carefully going towards the device, you are diving at it. [Emily laughs.] Caldwell: I think Emily is almost in the ready here. Murph, yelling: Is she? Is she? Is she? Caldwell: Yeah! Yeah, she's almost there! Murph: Really? Go on. Emily: Nonono, I think you don't understand. If the dive and the flash happen concurrently so that nobody can take a picture of me while I'm doing it. Caldwell: But you get-- okay that's good. That's good. That's a really great tactic. Murph, doubtful: Okay? Jake: It almost sounds like your idea is like a distraction for someone else to steal the egg, but it's not. It's for you. Murph and Caldwell: Yeah.

[lesb0]

by making the high into the low, it takes away sooo much of what makes high art complex and multifacted and provocative so it isn't as impactful. Likewise removing elements of camp lowness in the arts to "elevate" them makes them so much less engaging and entertaining. For example, when every expensive TV show attempts the label of prestige, it can come off silly and pretentious. some people say we've exited the prestige or peak tv era and entered the reboot/spinoff age:

arguably, the walking dead, game of thrones, succession, bridgerton, severance, and white lotus were part of the golden era. But those are all either finished or pumping out abysmal later seasons and terrible spinoffs.

So can they successfully manipulate a high (or just costly) art into being low without the genre savviness to execute kitchy camp absurdity? I think Riverdale, Now Apocalypse, and American Horror Story (et al) pulled off expensive camp well. And it isn't tv, but Jordan Peele is brilliant at bridging high and low. I don't think it's a coincidence that I think the BEST of high-low balanced TV are also campy horror series:

And it isnt only TV -- graffiti, prints, and handmade archive zines don't need to be treated the same as European oil paintings. In fact, putting a book or any handheld art object behind a glass case can consequentially mitigate a LOT of its importance and impact. the best curatorial display method for something like this:

is NOT only a glass case on a white pedestal. when me and my team curated a show for renaissance book leaflets a few years ago, we made pdf transcripts on a qr code and uploaded our readings into an audio tour. our museum wasn't well-funded, but we found a way to record free mp3s through our phones. the viewers couldn't touch the books, but they could read them. people want to elevate the perceived importance of an object without contemplating whether that worsens it.

when you put kanye's ugly streetwear on the runway with couture, then it is no longer street fashion. art historians don't need to write their dissertations on cartooning and comic book arts (though visual culture theorists do!) Rap music isn't courtly intellectual chamber music, which I listen to for relaxing at home all day or at work. but, I will also blast Megan on my airpods max to hype myself up to be a bad bitch on my morning commute. high and low art forms are functional! they are made for communicating to a specific purpose and audience. And I don't want to understate the white saviorism component to the "elevate everything low" trend. very much akin to the early jesuit missionaries' valorous and noble pursuit to save those poor uncivilized african souls, there has always been a Westernized context to high art and a markedly "urban" slant to low genres.

If you are going to exhaust death of the author to underpin every critical idea you sprout, at least make sure the theory is grounded in some sort of reasonable or intellectual curiosity to explore the boundaries dividing high-low and not in a paranoid response to repair an artform that was never broken. Respect the balance! <3

[rederiswrites]

Arden codex: 8, 14, 20, 23. the play one could be Very fun

Oooh, lots to work with!

8. A future historian’s analysis of Rook’s actions (Bonus: featuring a relevant primary source)

From the dissertation of Henry Darrow, University of Starkhaven.

Details as to how Arden Mercar, commonly known as Rook, became involved in the Blight of the Gods are often confused, with one source making a claim entirely contradicted by another. Some point to his involvement with the underground movement the Shadow Dragons as the point of connection, suggesting that he became involved due to Venatori alliance with the gods. Others propose that he was secretly an agent of the Tevinter military, serving under his father Charon Mercar, and his involvement with the Shadow Dragons merely a red herring.

I propose a rather radical revision of this timeline. I believe that Rook was in fact involved with a splinter faction of the Inquisition, and was in pursuit of the elven god Fen'harel before Ghilan'nain and Elgar'nan broke free of their prison. In support of this bold claim, I offer a series of fragmentary letters between one Lace Harding and known agents of the Inquisition, kept in the archives of the Mortalitasi in Nevarra.

While portions of these letters are sadly rendered illegible, what is clear is that Rook was working with this Lace Harding, as well as author and known Inquisition agent Varric Tethras, as much as a year before the Blight of the Gods began, and that they were in pursuit of an unidentified powerful figure. As you will see in the following transcriptions, we can guess a great deal that was previously hidden from these correspondences.

14. A letter from a faction leader to a companion about Rook’s actions.

Davrin--

Out of respect for your services to the Wardens to date I will not have you arrested, should you return promptly, but if I see that insolent whelp "Rook" again, I assure you, he will spend time in Weisshaupt's cells.

--First Warden Glastrum

20. Something written about Rook on a historical plaque. Oh Hmm!

ARDEN MERCAR BRAVE SON OF TEVINTER LEAD OUR FORCES AGAINST THE BLIGHTED GODS AND RETURNED THE SUN

[A more cynical scholar once noted that this statue and plaque are notably revisionist, as Rook did not carry the heraldry of Tevinter, and while the phrasing permits the viewer to believe that it was the forces of Tevinter which Arden led, in fact the Tevinter military was in disarray following the disappearance of Archon Radonis, and many of those who led the fight against the Blighted gods were from outside Tevinter's borders.]

23. Excerpt from a play dramatizing Rook’s actions (Bonus: include a review of this play)

I apologize, but the first thing that popped into my mind was the Gaang watching that terrible play together and I couldn't get past it so I've gone off prompt a bit.

"Maker, that was agonizing," Arden said, eyes squeezed shut.

"Speak for yourself. I thought my actor was amazing," said Taash. "'Raargghhh! Woarrghhh! Die, darkspawn!' Plus I had my own little mage stage hand to do the fire."

"Mhm. And you said 'therefore' and 'most certainly' and 'charge, my fair warriors' a lot less than me. So, you know, appreciate your fortune." Arden rolled his shoulders as if trying to shake off the last hour and a half.

Lucanis laughed. "Come now. You were terribly dashing. The actor is not nearly so handsome, of course, but you can't fault his commitment to the role."

"And I'll bet you loved your actor's commitment to completely destroying an Antivan accent?" Arden said.

"Very much so, actually. It had the added benefit of rendering all 'my' lines completely incomprehensible."

"Look lively, people," Neve cut in. "Here comes the director, along with a couple of aldermen if I'm not mistaken."

"Fasta vass. I need a drink," Arden muttered, straightening up and plastering a smile on his face.

[mpchev]

Update on fanbinding dissertation: more typesetting, more test prints, more guillotines!

I’ve now spent 23 hours learning how to fanbind! Having SO MUCH FUN, despite the tiny bit of panic that has started to settle in — everything else also takes a lot of time, and these fanbinding hours could have been spent reading more of the abundant fanbinding / fan studies / folklore research, or working on transcriptions, or getting some writing done. Going for equal parts of “it’s all about balance” and “fuck it we ball”.

I ordered some supplies from Ratchford a few days ago — I’ll need to order some more because I was mid flare-up when I did it, so brain was mush and I forgot a bunch of things, but! I now have enough supplies to do some of the next steps.

My new best friend the blue guillotine from the last update? Not such a good friend after all, test signatures were very uneven. Mentioned I was looking for an alternative to one of my profs, and he lent me his own! (Thanks Tom!) It is also blue, I’ll miss it dearly when I have to give it back. Walking around campus casually carrying a guillotine made me feel like the most interesting person in the world, many opportunities for French revolution jokes, highly recommend.

Spent a day at the library finishing up the typesetting, and doing some more printing and cutting tests. With the actual fic on the page instead of the SFW version, so here’s a title reveal if you squint (I’m binding 5 short fics together, had to come up with something). Was worried about regular printer paper looking way too blue-white for a book, but that printer had recycled paper as an option and it looks so much better. Huge thanks to Kait for the moral support, the carrying of the guillotine when I couldn’t, and the pictures of me doing things.

Spent the night making a punching cradle out of millboard (using embroidery scissors as an x-acto knife?! do not recommend) and PVA glue, after seeing someone else posting about how easy it was. (Now, is it somewhat functional? Yes. Should I maybe have googled it a little instead of just eyeballing it in a trance state of Must Do Something Now? Also yes. Later found a great youtube video of what I should have done instead, might give it a go later.) Then punched some holes (so far, feels like I didn’t need to get an awl/my awl is way too big, but we’ll see), and then sown my two more test signatures, one with more embroidery floss and one with the linen thread I now have. Something feels a bit off in the very-thin linen thread + recycled paper + big awl + wonky punching cradle combo, not sure which one to blame, probably a bit of everything. The collection of test signatures keeps on growing!

Went back to the library the following day, printed one more test signature (in case the printer had decided to grow a new personality overnight), and then the two copies of the actual book! Sliced all the sheets in half, put them in the right order, folded the pages, arranged them into signatures, and sliced them to the actual size. Thought I messed up by folding the signatures before cutting them to size, but that turned out to be a better way to do it. They look SO GOOD and SO REAL, I am SO HAPPY, this is SO SATISFYING, I desperately want to learn how to make paperbacks next to carry them everywhere. Also want to bind bigger books. Look at that happy autoethnography face.

Next steps: sewing the signatures, getting the missing supplies, attacking the terrifying ordeal of casing those bitches.

[bread-tab]

Doctorate progress:

This spring I was granted an associate's degree (2 years of university, worth about half a bachelor's) by my community college after 11 years of on-and-off classes, repeatedly burning out, getting diagnosed with ADHD, and going back for one (1) English class that I had previously failed or dropped out of 4-5 times already.

I passed that class last year by the skin of my teeth because I'm an excellent writer but kept missing classes and writing assignments due to being sick.

Apparently this gave me just enough core credits for a different degree than the two (transfer and specialized) degrees I'd been going for in the past. The school sent me a letter saying they would automatically graduate me if I didn't respond within the next 4 months. Due to aforementioned ADHD, I didn't get around to it and subsequently forgot about the whole business until I got another letter with my transcript and instructions on how to order a copy of my diploma. ...I should probably do that.

I have decided not to go for the doctorate on account of, I finally have a full time job and if I take more than one class at a time I will spontaneously combust.

Sad about not getting to do a dissertation and all that fun stuff but like. I'm a whole adult. At this point I'd rather invent my own field of study, do the field work in my spare time, and write some books. That sounds a lot easier.

I've already done my decade in academia. I've had enough.

(Maybe I'll find a school without the structural and institutional ableism, ageism, and classism I'm accustomed to and change my mind. But, like, I doubt it.)

So, a little belatedly, I'm giving myself a pat on the back for finishing school. You never have to do it again, buddy. Not unless you actually want to.

[bigtreefest]

Hi Essie!

I was just reading your post on your application and this is just a thought -- you don't have to respond at all if you don't like this idea!! this idea is purely my CPH4 brain talking I swear I have nothing to do with this lol

So, a young man (okay maybe not so young he was born four years ahead of you according to his page in the uni website ) with some very serious frowning becomes your thesis supervisor at the end of the term. He taught one lesson that you attended and you didn't know him very well besides his name. He rarely speaks, always listening to your presentation/answer, and very occasionally asking "do you have any questions for me?"

Nevertheless, you have impressive GPA and at the end of that term, you decided to apply for a PhD. You already have two letters of recommendation, one from a professor that you have known for two years during your Master's, one from a professor that supervised your Bachelor thesis and teaching a few courses that you attended.

But this damn Graduate School that you want to get in requires THREE. THREE FUCKING RECOMMENDATION LETTERS. And it specifically requires the letter from your dissertation supervisors.

You ask, not with much hope, your current supervisor, the lecturer with a very serious frowning look on his face, whether he could provide you a letter of recommendation.

To which he responded, texting back in a matter of seconds.

-Ofc. When do you need it? Send your transcripts btw.

NOW, the question is: Is he

or

or

----I just thought it'd be hilarious if he's very serious during class and meetings while he's basically any 20-somethings when texting you and discussing things that he shouldn't be sharing with you (like the content of your recommendation letter, or the fact that three recommendation letters is absolutely worthless even though he's providing one for you, or that because another professor is cranky and possibly stealing work from their students, you def shouldn't be choosing him as your doctor supervisor)

Oh I absolutely adore this ask! Thank you so much for sending this in, I unfortunately know the hierarchy of academia too well which is why I honestly think I would be rolling my eyes at these standards, too. I took the prompt and ran with it. 😂

I wanna talk about the other two options before I get to my choice. All below the cut bc it’s long.

Let’s discuss Ari:

Throughout Ari’s undergrad degree, he played football and was greatly interested in world policies, so everyone thought once his sports career and degree was over, he’d be ready to get out there. Nope. He really wasn’t sure where to start, so instead, he decided to keep going with schooling.

His grades were just good enough for him to get into the program you were applying to now. Varsity athletics looked great on the application and his charm was the extra boost. Now that he’s in it though, it’s been almost seven years instead of the usual four to five. Part of it is him going in without much of a plan, wanting to try every avenue, while the other is him just not caring enough to push further and just finish the degree. He’s getting paid just enough to get by and no one has threatened to kick him out, so he enjoys the coasting and the free time it gives for him to look into his actual passions.

Part of the PhD program is all of the grad students sitting in a room grading exams of undergrads every few weeks, and during this, Ari really shows his personality. They have to sit there for hours on end, and it can get boring, so Ari will tell stories to the kid next to him to pass the time, except the room is so quiet that everyone hears. These will range from the various dates with odd girls, to that time he saw a video of someone cooking salmon in the dishwasher, so he tried it out. “It was pretty decent. I swear it’s Kosher! I would do it again if it didn’t take so long.”

Any time he gets trusted to teach, which is rare since his advisor doesn’t really want it in order to guarantee the kids are being taught correct content, questions are not answered very well. It’s either with a “hell if I know. Use google. That’s how they do it in the real world.” Or “wait for the professor to get back. This isn’t my expertise.” Both technically valid, but not what a younger student wants to hear from someone in a position of authority.

Star Student Steve:

Steve was born for upper-level studies. He’s been ready to graduate essentially since getting into the program, knowing exactly what he wanted to research right off the bat. He knows all the content well and is well-liked by students and professors alike. The undergrads have a habit of ogling him and crowding his office hours, so you never even bothered to go. Pending his early graduation, he’s already been offered a job at the university with a full federal research grant, which he could use to travel or gain equipment for his projects. He’s probably considering this, unless one of the prime companies/agencies gives him a better offer. He can’t wait for the opportunity to make new rules and discoveries in the field, just needs to find the best route to get him there. (Talk about a CPH4 brain, haha)

With all of this going on, though, he doesn’t have time for much else. Sure, he��s very kind, but he’s always on the move. Students are not his first priority right now if he wants everything in place to be successful and make history. When it comes to picking an advisor, everyone wants Steve, but after hearing all that, and the standard he might hold you to without giving you the time of day to reach that level, do you really want him?

My wonderful choice Curtis:

(Even before I saw my options, this description was screaming ‘Curtis’ to me.)

He’s definitely the kind of silent student who puts his head down and does his work because it’s difficult stuff. Some may say it’s even more difficult than Steve’s if they knew what Curtis actually did, but he’s so silent and keeps it to himself unless he’s asked. It’s not because he doesn’t want to share, it’s more because when he’s interacting with students, he understands his job is to help them first and foremost. Although Curtis may have been busy, he never rushed and made sure his full attention was on the task or person at hand.

All the Professors know Curtis and really like him for his work ethic and ability to maintain balance and remain a grounded person, except he’s just not a poster boy like Steve. For this reason, his advisor trusts him enough to teach certain classes since Curtis parses out his time well and not only knows the content, but cares about it deeply. At the end of his lectures, though, when he asks for questions, it’s radio silence. Perhaps it’s because he taught the material so well, but even Steve and Ari get the odd question about their research or last Sunday’s football game. Curtis gets disinterested stares until he dismisses everyone. Office hours are pretty quiet, too, until right around exam time when a few students come to him for help since everywhere else was so full. After seeing how helpful he is, yourself included, they keep going back to him, keeping it to themselves, though, keeping him their hidden secret gem.

The lack of recognition Curtis gets is a shame, though, because he’s so nice. Actually, not just nice, but genuinely kind. When you were assigned with him as your advisor, you weren’t really sure what to do. Not many talked about him and the stoic demeanor was a little intimidating, until you actually spoke with each other. He was so sweet and engaged, asking you questions and providing guidance not only on what he thought might work the best, but how to go about it and how to properly convey ideas to the committee panel members at the end. He gave you his phone number, too, in case you needed any help at all, saying he’d pick up anytime.

When you asked him for your letter of recommendation, he was elated. “No one has ever come to me for that before, but ofc. When do you need it? Send your transcripts btw. And your resume.”

Curtis was right, though, he had never had to be the voice of authority vouching on someone’s behalf since up until this point, he was in your exact shoes. “Don’t be nervous to ask questions, but I also don’t want you to think that I’ve got all the answers and you’re not good enough. The only difference between you and me academically is like four classes content-wise. I just have more hands-on experience.” He said it with a soft, reassuring smile that really put you at ease.

He’s aware of the system, and of course he hates it, because he knows what it’s like to be at the bottom. Throughout his time putting together your recommendation, he’s messaging you with updates. “I’m going to add this because they really like to see it specifically highlighted,” or “I’m not even sure what they’re asking here, but it’s fucking stupid if you ask me. Conventions like this are ridiculous. I hate that these decisions are made by people who aren’t even on the ground. If they actually took part in this program, they’d see you’re more than qualified to get into it. But no, for some reason, all important decisions are made by old people so far removed from actual work.”

That second one was in person, though. It wouldn’t look good to have him saying those things in writing. He rolls his eyes before switching back to his reassuring, charming self.

“Anyway, don’t worry. I’ll make sure it’s good.”

And then as he sits down to write, he constantly sends you lines from it. “Does this sound too braggy? Am I hyping up your work too much? I feel like it wouldn’t be fair if I was casual about it, but we’re rocking with a lot of enthusiasm right now and idk where the line is where it’ll seem insincere.😅”

You tend to hang around Curtis a lot while you’re working on finishing up. On small work breaks, he tells you about the weird little things the other PhD students have sent to his email. “I’m what, four years older than you? And so are these other guys, but I swear they act like they’re twelve.” It helps you to laugh at his small little complaints in a time of building stress. He lets you into his life and you see he’s a normal person, just a few years older than you. He’s the whole reason you know about Ari and the dishwasher salmon, and he helps to break down the barriers you feel against everyone in his program that seems to know so much. Half of your conversation is weird everyday things about his life you’re sure no one else has given him the space to talk about. “You texted me while I was watching the hockey game, they were losing anyway so I was grateful to do something else.” He was in the city…at the actual hockey game…drinking a beer and scrolling emails…. Or “my apartment has a no pet policy, but my roommate got a cat, so I hope you don’t mind the little guy joining us today. Just while the landlord does some maintenance so we don’t get kicked out.” He’s half shuffling through the papers on his desk, half giving you an amused smile thinking of the whole situation. Of course, it can’t all be personal, though, so he continues to sprinkle advice in here and there.

“Also, if you wanna keep your sanity around here, keep away from Levinson’s advisor. Not only is he just straight-up a ridiculous man, but he won’t push you if he likes you. And if he hates you, you’ll know it a mile away. That’s why I never chose him for my committee meeting.”

As you prepare to defend your thesis, Curtis is sitting with you in the hallway. He’s been prepping you for this presentation for weeks, but for peace of mind, he asks you potential questions as you wait to be called in. He holds a paper copy of your thesis, saying once again “you’ve got this. Just like the rehearsals. No one knows this stuff better than you. Show them that.” As you stand in front of the small crowd, he gives you a thumbs-up and watches with approving nods as your blow it out of the water.

He gives you a big hug when you pass and an even bigger hug when you stop by the small TA office and visit his desk to tell him about your official spot in the PhD program. “I can’t wait to work together more with you. You’re going to do great things, I know it, and I’m proud to be a part of it.”

[evaglass]

Adding More Backstory to Tang Shen

I wish 2012 had told us more about Tang Shen. Not much was told except that she was born in Fukuoka, was 1/4th Chinese, and was a woman both Splinter and Shredder were in love with.

Also, there's a line Shen says at one point, which involves her saying, "I can take care of myself; I've always have." Giving the idea, she grew up in tough circumstances. We never hear anything about her parents, if she was orphaned or not. We know her grandparents were present in her life, and I looked up information about the city of Fukuoka, which is stated to be a fairly safe place. I wish that line was explored more, but it just feels like the writers put it there for some brief moment of angst.

There was also a bit of writing inconsistencies. In season one, episode 26, there are these lines of dialogue I got from the episode's transcript when Splinter and Shredder are fighting

But then, in season 3, in the Tale of the Yokai episode, there's this scene

Yeahh, I believe I found a way to explain this in my rewrite of 2012, but for now, I want to talk about my rewrite of Shen.

I was thinking of making Shen a Taiwanese woman of 100% Chinese descent. She was really close to her father, but unfortunately, he died when she was still a child.

Shen's mother raised her and Shen's younger sister as a single mother with the help of Shen's older brother, who stepped up to provide for his family after their father died.

Shen was a very studious and hardworking young lady, but also a little bit rebellious as she was very set on the choices she made for herself, whether her mother approved or not.

She got accepted to Cambridge University, where she majored in history and minored in linguistics, as she had a passion for history like her father, and wanted to become a historian.

After she graduated from her undergraduate program, she entered her PhD. program for history, where in the last few years of said program, she worked part-time on her dissertation while also working as an English teacher in Japan.

During her time in Japan, she met Shredder and Splinter. Shen met Shredder first; they became friends, and soon both developed feelings for each other. When Shen tried to make a move, Shredder rejected it, as he wanted to focus on the future of the Hamato Clan and gain the approval of his adoptive father, Hamato Yuuta; he also wanted to respect her dream of becoming a historian, and not distract her from it. Shen was embarrassed but respected his decision and agreed just to be friends.

Shen and Splinter don't get together until a little bit later. Actually, when they first met, they didn't like each other at all as their first impression of each other wasn't great. However, they, of course, do come to respect each other after Splinter helped Shen when her car broke down at the side of the road. Shen and Splinter later become friends and then develop feelings for each other, which surprised both of them, especially Shen, as Splinter was someone she did not expect.

I like to think that as they spent more time together, Shen felt more comfortable talking about her passion and also introduced Splinter about the history of the Renaissance Painters.

She does graduate from her PhD. program, but also accidentally gets pregnant because the portrait Splinter has looked like a wedding photo.

I also thought about how Shen was able to find out about how brutal the war between the Hamato and Foot Clan before Splinter does, seeing how it involved the never-ending cycle of revenge. Finding that out, Tang Shen never wanted her daughter to get involved with ninjitsu.

Look at the way Shen looks at her baby daughter; she would've done anything for her.

She wanted Karai to have a normal life, and that's staying in my rewrite, but I also want to explain why she would push Splinter to leave ninjitsu to go to New York with her to raise their daughter; the history between both clans would play a big part with that, as well as her love for Splinter, but also Shen would still be traumatized from losing her father at a young age, and didn't want her daughter growing up without her father.

But unfortunately, Shen dies. I'm keeping Shen's death the same way it happened in the show, but yeah, that was my rewrite. Let me know what you guys think.

[outfoxt]

Affixes, Clitics, and Particles

i think that these parts of language are really cool! so im going to try to explain them :D also i definitely did not get sent down an hours long rabbit hole of linguistic papers and i also definitely didn't find out that the reason i wanted to make this post is actually a misconception :D i love ignoring things :D

Affixes:

the wikipedia article for affixes says that "in linguistics, an affix is a morpheme that is attached to a word stem to form a new word or word form."

in hopefully simpler terms, this basically means that an affix is a letter, or a group of letters that form a single sound or syllable, that is attached to a word stem to form a new word or word form.

some examples of these are the somewhat well known prefix and suffix, but also the beloved infix:

prefix: undone suffix: spotless infix: abso-fucking-lutely

sidenote: my favorite thing about english infixes is that they pretty much only work with expletives. in fact, there's a tom scott video about expletive infixations!

Clitics:

wikipedia defines a clitic as such: "a clitic is a morpheme that has syntactic characteristics of a word, but depends phonologically on another word or phrase."

in layman's terms: a clitic is a letter, or a group of letters that form a single sound or syllable, that has the function of a word in a sentence, but depends on another word or phrase based on the sound rules of the language.

a few examples of clitics can be seen in finnish (which also has a great many affixes but we're not talking about those right now):

-ko/kö -han/hän -pa/pä -kin

the spelling of the clitic depends on vowel harmony. if you want to learn more, this dissertation is all about finnish clitics!

you may be asking yourself how to tell the difference between clitics and other parts of speech. well this study has just the thing for you! quite a few tests are suggested by the author of this study if you want to be able to tell if something is a clitic or not, including some of the following:

a phonological test observe how the clitic forms a phonological unit with an independent word. (do not ask me how this one works i dont know) accentual test "clitics are accentually dependent, while full words are accentually independent." put simply, if you can't put stress on it, it's probably a clitic syntactic test a word can stand on its own and be subject to normal word processes such as tense changes while a clitic cannot do this

Particles:

"'Particle' is a cover term for items that do not fit easily into syntactic and semantic generalizations about the language[.]"

read: "particle" is a miscellaneous, catch all term for anything that doesn't fit into the above two categories (or any other word categories like nouns, verbs, etc.)

the author of this study (who i'm going to refer to as Zwicky from now on because it's easier) says that theres no such thing as a particle and that its distinction from affixes, clitics, words, and clauses is unnecessary. i think thats an. interesting take.

anyway even though Zwicky just said theres no such thing as particles (which, how could he do that? theres kids around! we dont want to ruin the magic!) he concedes that there is actually a group of words that are commonly called particles that he agrees are actually particles. but he decides to call them discourse markers instead. because fuck you.

i dont like any of the words that Zwicky included so i made a list of my own:

-ね (ne) eh (canadian english) innit (common transcription of "isn't it", british english)

the funny thing is im coming out of this still not entirely clear on what a particle is. i thought i knew, i did some research, realized i didnt know, and now i'm here. based on how Zwicky puts it, it feels like the category of "particle" exists to accommodate the fact that there might be words* that arent affixes, clitics, words, or clauses but it feels like Zwicky is just being contrary. I should probably have done more research but this post was supposed to be done 24 hours ago.

out of context highlights from my research process: - sanskrit - the panini rule - doch - verbosely long section titles

*i dont actually mean words, i mean a morpheme which is a letter or a group of letters that form the representation of one sound that carries meaning, but i didn't want to make that sentence long and unreadable

if i'm wrong, please tell me! i would appreciate being corrected, i know i am not an expert on this topic in the slightest.